


have yourself a merry little christmas

by kadtherine



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Food Porn, Team Legends - Freeform, ripsara, set somewhere in s3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 16:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15004361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadtherine/pseuds/kadtherine
Summary: She isn’t British, she can’t survive on tea alone. Knowing Rip, she wouldn’t be allowed to take a cookie before anyone else got up. Or she’d be able too. Sara’s a ninja, after all. He wouldn't even know.(based on the following prompt - "you have flour on your face.")





	have yourself a merry little christmas

**Author's Note:**

> H'lo people, it's been a while. This is an old fic I decided to post on here (because writer's block and other stuff). I'll post some fresh contents, soon I promise. Hope you'll enjoy!

happy christmas,  [ @meyanas ](https://tmblr.co/mUVRkgefyNUAg46sH3Hld_g) !

(46. you have flour on your face)

  
  


Sara wakes up to an empty, cold bed and tries not to panic.

  
  


 

_ It’s Rip,  _ she thinks to herself as she sits upright and runs her fingers through her hair,  _ he’s never been one to sleep in. _ Hell, he’s never been one to actually sleep, to begin with. Rip doesn’t sleep, he chases ghosts and time aberrations with a tumbler of scotch in his hand until he passes out on the map he’s been studying. Rip’s absence in the bed doesn’t mean that he went up and decided to leave them again, Sara tries to convince herself as she shrugs on a sweater over her black tank top. His stuff is still there, she remarks, catching sight of his duffel bag by the threshold. Beside, he wouldn’t have leave again. He wouldn’t dare. Rip has been back for a whole week now, the dark circles around his eyes gone and his shoulders pushed back. He looks so different, unburdened and an easy smile on his lips. And while she had been glad he was back, Sara couldn’t help but hate him a bit in that moment. They had been dealing with dinosaurs and roman gladiators while he had been off, doing his own thing without a second thought for them.

  
  


 

Gideon seemed to have been on the current Captain’s side, either ignoring Rip’s demands or throwing snide remarks each time he talked. Sara’d hide a smirk whenever she’d see him clench his jaw and mumble apologies and other things under his breath. To her surprise, the others had been more welcoming, Jax dragging Rip to show him the new ship procedures he had installed. He’d inquire about Martin’s family, listening with rapt attention and a fond smile on his face while the Professor rambled about Little Ronnie. Even Mick had been happy - albeit he had relucanlty admitted to it - about Rip’s return. Sara had felt slightly betrayed when Gideon eventually switched sides again.

 

 

Sara had taken to sleep in Rip’s - the Captain’s - quarters in the absence. Rip returning to the Waverider hadn’t changed things. When finding out that she had relocated into the Captain’s quarters, he had simply crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow at her. Sara had been sitting in the middle of his bed with her legs crossed and shrugged, moving to the side and patting the empty space next to her - _“it’s a king-sized bed, we’ve got_ **_cots,_** _learn to share dude_ ”. To her surprise, he had only returned her shrug and sat next to her, taking a book off the shelf above his head. They had slowly fall back into their old pattern, Rip taking a step back and offering his expertise whenever it was needed.

  
  


Sara grabs her watch from the bedside table, frowning at the early hour - 4:38 - as she steps out of the room. The lights turn on as soon as she steps into the hallway and she sends a silent thanks to Gideon, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Arriving to the end of the hallway, her frowns deepens when she notices that the lights in the study weren’t on.

 

 

 

“Gideon?” Sara calls, stifling a yawn as she stretches her arms over her head.

  
  


“Yes, Captain Lance?”

  
  


“You wouldn’t know where Rip is, would you?”

  
  


“It appears that Mr Hunter is in the galley,” Gideon informs her

  
  
  


Sara tilts her head to the side, scratching the back of her head as she turns back around and makes her way to the kitchen. And sure enough, through the crack of the door streams out of the room. Sara slows down as she stops in front of the door, a frown reappearing on her face at the faint sound of music. With a sigh, she pushes the door and slips into the room, Rip’s back to her as she goes in. She feels a small smile stretch onto her face as she observes her surroundings, the smell of chocolate filling her nostrils as soon as she steps in. All sort of ingredients are on the kitchen counter and one of the tables, flour covering nearly every surface. Empty dishes form a small mountain in the sink and racks of cookies cooling on the dishwasher. Sara’s smile widens when she notices Rip humming along to the music, his head bobbing up and down as he cracks eggs into a bowl. He puts the bowl near the sink and turns off the oven before the timer could go off. Sara silently slips on a stool, dipping a finger into a cookie dough before popping it in her mouth.

  
  
  


“Well, well, well,” Sara startles, looking up with wide-eyes as if she had been caught with her hands in the cookie jar. Which she had, in some way. Rip shoots her a small smile, an eyebrow cocked at her, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  
  
  
  


Sara narrows her eyes at him before she definitely cradles the bowl of dough against her chest. Rip snorts at her and closes the oven door with his foot, going to put his new rack of snickerdoodles next to his cooling cookies.

  
  
  


“Actually, it was the chocolate that dragged me here,” Sara retorts, pursing her lips when Rip goes to take the bowl out of her hands.

  
  
  


With an eye roll, he grabs a wooden spoon, scooping the rest of the dough into it before handing it to her. She accepts it with a dramatic sigh, letting go of the bowl.

  
  
  


“Did I wake you up? Apologies, I’ve been trying to be as quiet as possible,” Rip frowns, throwing the dish into the sink and filling it with hot water.

 

 

“You didn’t,” she reassures him, licking the dough off the spoon, “what’s up with you baking cookies at four in the morning, though?”

  
  


 

Rip lifts a shoulder, putting a bowl on the table and leaning against it as he pours flour and melted butter into it. Sara narrows her eyes and kicks his shin, smiling when he looks up to glare at her. He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, leaving white trails in his blonde hair. He pushes himself off the table and grabs two mugs from the cupboard above his head. Turning off the stove, he opens the covered, steaming pot and scoops its contents into a big spoon before pouring it into the mugs, under Sara’s inquisitive stare. He tops it with whipping cream - Sara hadn’t even know that they had whipping cream - and sprinkles it with crushed candy canes. Whipping his hands on his sweatpants, he throws a bit of candy cane in his mouth before grabbing both mugs and walks back to her. Sara licks her lips at the smell of hot chocolate as he slides the drink to her, keeping his own between his hands.

  
  
  


 

 

“I couldn’t fall back asleep,” Rip says and Sara can’t help but be surprised he doesn’t just ignore her question and move on, “I was just feeling restless.”

  
  


 

“You alright?” Sara frowns at him, licking whipped cream off her thumb.

  
  


“Yes,” Rip nodded, rolling his eyes when Sara tilts her head to the side, “I assure you, Miss Lance. I’m perfectly fine. No need to look much into it.”

  
  
  


Sara hums, unconvinced, before taking a sip of her drink. Her eyes widen as several flavours hit her tongue all at once, the thick chocolate warm and comforting while the caramel undertones sweeten the bitter dark chocolate. Putting down the cup, she looks up to Rip with a smile.

 

 

 

“This is good. Like  _ really _ good.”

  
  


 

“Cheers,” Rip holds up his own cup with a smile at the corner of his lips, “It’s a Hunter specialty,” he adds, handing her a tissue.

  
  


She accepted it with a sheepish smile, wiping the corner of her mouth and upper lip. “Is it really?”

  
  
  


 

 

Rip hums and takes a sip of his own, sighing in contentment with his elbows propped on the table. He tilts his head to the side.

  
  
  


 

 

“Well, it’s more of a Christmas tradition in the Hunter household. Miranda and I would take turns on Christmas mornings, whenever I wasn’t on missions, and wipe some cookies and hot chocolate for breakfast,” Rip huffs out a laugh, probably reminiscent of better times, “chocolate became a rare denry during the war, but we make do. We’d spend the day lazing around and watch some old Christmas films.”

  
  


 

“It sounds nice,” Sara says, her voice soft, as if she didn’t want to interrupt the silence that had fallen around them.

  
  


 

“It was,” Rip admits, his gaze unfocused and his jaw clenched. Snapping out of his thoughts, he looks up and clears his throat when meeting Sara’s blue eyes, “drink up, Miss Lance. There will be none left as soon as the rest wakes up,” he gestures to her own mug and downs his own to emphasize on his point.

  
  
  


 

 

Sara chooses to savour her drink instead, drumming her fingernails against the cup. Rip puts a teapot onto the stove and returns to his previously discarded bowls of preparation. She snatches the bottle of whipped cream, smiling innocently at Rip when the latter turns to her, his eyes narrowed at the whipped cream in her head before they move to the insane amount she adds to her drink.

  
  
  


 

 

“Y'know, you should made a fresh pot without that much sugar,” Sara sucks cream off her thumb and cocks an eyebrow at Rip when noticing his frown, “Or else, you’re going to find your arms full with a hyper Nate and overexcited Ray.”

  
  
  


 

 

Sara snorts when he gives a dramatic shudder, muttering under his breath before he grabs a fresh pot and places it next to the whistling kettle, shutting the gaze from under it.

  
  
  


 

“What else are you planning on making?” Sara leans over the table, to peek into the two differents bowls. Possibly even dip a finger into it.

  
  
  


 

As if reading her thoughts, Rip swoops in before she can even lift a hand and takes both concoctions away from her. Her pout has no effect on him and she’s aware of it but still, she pouts. Unsurprisingly, Rip isn’t fazed by it, not even in the slightest, and responds with a deadpan expression over his newly brewed mug of tea. She groans and leans back on her stool, her middle finger up. She groans louder when taking note of Rip’s stifled and barely concealed amusement. She isn’t British, she can’t survive on tea alone. Knowing Rip, she wouldn’t be allowed to take a cookie before anyone else got up. Or she’d be able too. Sara’s a ninja, after all. He wouldn't even know.

  
  
  


 

 

“Gingerbread cookies and hazelnut browni es, glazed with dark chocolate sauce,” Rip says, interrupting Sara’s train of thoughts. And making her empty stomach clench. Rip looks up at her and cocks an eyebrow at her, holding a bowl to her, “Want to help?”

  
  


 

“Hum, I wouldn’t be much help,” Sara scrunches up her nose, sliding off the stool and going around the table, “I’ll eat most of the dough before you can even say  _ Miss Lance _ in that aggravating tone of yours.”

  
  


“I guess I’ll just have to believe in your sense of restrain,” Rip smiles at her, handing her the bowl of eggs and a whisk, “Add some flour, a cup of sugar, melted butter… Um, golden syrup and you’ll find the cinnamon in some of the cupboards,” he instructs before moving to pick the warm milk off the stove and breaking three squares of dark chocolate into it.

  
  
  


 

Sara watches him move around the kitchen, smiling when he pops a bit of chocolate and wipes his hands on his pants before energetically mixing the concoction. He looks so comfortable and relaxed that Sara can’t help but wonder about what kind of person he would’ve been if he hadn’t been formed to become a Time Master. Would he have still met Miranda and have Jonas? Would he have died along with them? Would he have lived? Sara looks away from him when Rip walks away from the stove and next to her, lazily whisking his brownie mix. He offers her a Sara a handful of hazelnuts and she responds with a small smile and outstretched hand.

  
  


 

_ Santa Baby _ stars playing and Sara finds herself wishing for snow. She finds herself reminiscing about the grand Queen Christmas parties and the quieter precinct balls. She remembers running outside in only her pajamas and a pair of thick boots, dragging Laurel behind as soon as the first snowflake fell from the sky. She thinks of the snowball fights against Thea and Oliver while Tommy acted as the referee. She thinks making snow angels and staying out until she could barely feel her toes and fingertips.

 

 

 

“Sara, are you alright?” She looks up from her bowl to meet Rip’s concerned green eyes.

  
  


“Yeah,” she clears her throat, absently playing with the whisp in her hand, “I was just thinking of the Lance Christmas traditions,” she smiles at Rip’s genuine curiosity and sighs, “Laurel and I used to stay up super late, waiting for Santa, even when our parents sent us to our rooms. Y'know how we were supposed to leave a plate of cookies and a glass of milk for Santa, sometimes carrots for his reindeers?” Rip gives a small nod, an amused smile on his face, as if he already knows where her story is going, “We’d sneak downstairs and split the cookies between the two of us and fall asleep by the Christmas tree, surrounded by presents.”

  
  


“Sounds something like you’d do,” Rip says, nudging her shoulder with his, “You know, I’ve been thinking about stopping by 2017 and stationning in Star City and Central for the holidays.”

  
  


“Really?” Sara asks, a tinge of hope in her tone. Rip responds with a nonchalant shrug, keeping his eyes on his batter. She knocks his shoulder into his and smiles, “That’d be nice.”

  
  
  


 

Rip shrugs again and Sara restrains the urge to roll her eyes at him. None of them are particularly good about heart-to-heart, even though she’s pretty sure that, after Gideon, she’s his best friend on this ship. And despite all of his screw-ups and lies and manipulations, she knows he’s hers. This is why, instead of pressing on the subject, Sara grabs a handful of flour and turns to Rip, her closed fist hidden behind her back.

  
  
  
  


“Hey, you’ve got some flour on your face,” Sara says with a frown, putting down her bowl.

  
  


“Really, where?” Rip mimics her frown, wiping his hand on his pants before racking it over his beard.

  
  


“There.”

  
  
  


Sara leans forward and blows the flour onto his face, snickering at the way he wrinkles his nose and blinks. Flour sticks to his eyelashes and beard and for some reason, that makes her laugh even more. His glare holds no heat whatsoever and actual tears start to pour out of her eyes when Rip starts sneezing. Once. Twice. Thrice. He actually manages to take the time to breathe, grabbing a clean towel off a chair and whip his face with it. Sara’s too busy brushing tears off her cheek to notice Rip grabbing the whipped cream bomb and shaking it with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  
  
  


“To be honest, I expected worst,” he says, throwing the towel in the sink.

  
  


“Really, like what?” Sara’s still shaking with laughter when he slowly sneaks an arm around her waist. 

  
  


“Like this.”

  
  
  


It’s too late for her to move away and to avoid the amount of whipped cream Rip sprays over her head and face. She tries to shield herself with her hands, letting a undignified squeal - that Rip won’t ever dare to mention if he liked having each limbs attached to the rightful places of his body - as it pours over her face. She tries to push him and escapes his hold, his grasp surprisingly strong around her. She lets out a small laugh, her eyes squeezed shut and her head turned away from him. She cracks an eye opened and lets out a small shout of victory when it clicks empty. Sara pokes Rip’s stomach until he lets her go and shakes her head, flicking whipped cream around the room and onto Rip.

  
  
  


“Joke’s on you,” Sara licks some cream off her wrist and pushes her hair back, “I look even better like that.”

  
  
  


Rip gives a small hum, but doesn’t deny her statement. Sara smirks at him before cooping a whipped cream off her head and slapping it on his cheek. Rip lets out a groan and rubs it into his shoulder.

  
  
  


“Hum… What is going on here?”

  
  
  


Both of their heads snap around to see Jax, Ray, Amaya and Nate enter the kitchen, with sleepy eyes and bewildered expressions plastered on their faces. Nate’s attention seems to be more on the cookies behind them than their actual person. Sara exchanges a look with Rip, the latter cocking an eyebrow at her before they both turn back to the new arrivals.

  
  
  


“We’re making cookies, obviously,” Sara says, sucking on her fingers. Rip snorts.

  
  


“Obviously,” Amaya mutters, her gaze flickering between the two. Sara holds out a hand full of whipped cream and she grimaces, shaking her head.

  
  


“They’ll be ready soon,” Rip informs, not deterred by their presences.

  
  
  


Jax narrows his eyes and shakes his head, deciding that they aren’t worth his time before grabbing a pinch of crushed candy cane and popping it in his mouth as he takes his leave from the kitchen. Ray lets out a loud yawn, rubbing his face before following Jax out. Nate actually tries to make his way to the cooling cookies, freezing on spot when Sara produces a knife out of nowhere, spinning it between her fingers with a snarl on her face. His eyes move to Rip and she can see the latter shrug from the corner of her eye, as if saying  _ ‘your fingers, not mine’. _ He makes the wise choice to back away from the counter and out of the kitchen. Amaya shoots both of them a look before slowly grabbing a cookie and filling out of the room with a smile on her face. Sara snorts when she hears Nate’s whining.

  
  
  


“We should probably get back to it, the masses are waking up,” Rip sighs, running his fingers through his hair, “And by us, I mean me if you feel like joining the others or maybe take a shower, perhaps.”

 

“No, I’ll help,” Sara protests, actually pouring flour into the bowl instead of blowing it in his face, “I might not have the first chocolate chip cookie, but I’ll have the first gingerbread man and the first bite of hazelnut brownie.”

  
  
  


Rip looks at her and it takes all of her willpower not to look away. It takes all of her willpower for her not get closer to him. Eventually, he takes a step back and smiles at her.

  
  
  


“Very well, then.”

  
  
  


And they do get to it, Sara shaping her gingerbread men into each members of the Legends - she even makes one shaped like the Waverider while Rip works on the icing for both his brownies and the gingerbread biscuits. He uses the rest of the dough to write each of their names. She’d like to say they act dignified and show restraint when both of them walk into the bridge, arms filled with pastries. They don’t, though. They charge at them and leave only crumples in their leave. Mick gives Rip a rough pat on the back before breaking the head of his own gingerbread and shoving it in his mouth. He eventually joins the rest of the crew, all sitting around Jax while the latter “plays” the guitar - a guitar that Sara had seen exposed in Rip’s study at multiple occasions - and invents songs on the spot. They’re all very thankful when Martin takes over.

  
  


Sara nudges Rip with her shoulder and hands him a handful of extra cookies she had shoved in her pockets before leaving the kitchen. He accepts it with a smile and knocks it against hers before taking a bite of it.

  
  
  


“I’ve hidden brownies in the oven,” he whispers in her ear.

  
  


“Urgh,” Sara lifts a hand and he wordlessly returns the high five without looking at her, “I’m never letting you leave this ship ever again.”

  
  
  


And while she doesn’t intend for them to, her words hold a lot of meaning. She keeps quiet, the laughter and music feeling the silence between the two. The words Rip speaks next hold even more meaning to her own.

  
  
  


“I didn’t intend to.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, it means a lot ! Don't forget to leave a comment to tell me what you thought of it. You can also follow me on tumblr, @lesbianxshuri.
> 
> Until next time, babes,  
> Kadi.


End file.
